


You've Got a Pretty Bad Poker Face

by miss_slipslop



Category: One Direction (Band), The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, Angst, Episode: s02e01 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 1, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 2, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_slipslop/pseuds/miss_slipslop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s the fifth press briefing since midnight, and the room is even more crowded than the last time. Five in the morning, and every seat taken. After being Press Secretary for two years, Eleanor shouldn’t be fazed by this--after all, she’s addressed much larger audiences in the past, but well, not in these kinds of circumstances. For all her training, all the hypotheticals and what ifs, she never, ever thought she would actually be in this situation." </p>
<p>One Direction AU, inspired by The West Wing and the episode In the Shadow of Two Gunmen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got a Pretty Bad Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucida/gifts).



> To lucida: Happy New Year! <3 Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you again for pulling me into the wonderful world of 1D.
> 
> As I said, this is inspired by The West Wing, though you don't really need any previous knowledge of the show to read this fic. Also have this in the tags, but just in case--trigger warnings for angst, daddy issues, and injuries. Though it does have a happy ending! 
> 
> Thanks to Aaron Sorkin for being a far more talented writer than myself, and giving me inspiration for this fic and for the title, for the 1D boys for being their hilarious dumb selves, and to isabelquinn for beta'ing. <3

_You’ve Got a Pretty Bad Poker Face._

 

 

I. 

 

It’s the fifth press briefing since midnight, and the room is even more crowded than the last time. Five in the morning, and every seat taken. After being Press Secretary for two years, Eleanor shouldn’t be fazed by this--after all, she’s addressed much larger audiences in the past, but well, not in these kinds of circumstances. For all her training, all the hypotheticals and what ifs, she never, ever thought she would actually be in this situation. 

She swallows heavily, runs a hand down her neck. It’s still throbbing, though she keeps telling people it doesn’t hurt. There’s a thin layer of gauze, covering the cut from when the first shots had been fired and she’d been knocked to the ground, but that’s the least of her worries. 

She hasn’t slept in twenty four hours, her eyes are puffy, and she’s pale. _Duty calls,_ she thinks. Come on Eleanor. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Stride across the room, step up to the podium, begin. 

So she does. 

“Good morning,” she says, looking out at the sea of faces, checking her voice to make sure it sounds strong, assured. 

The questions come at once, madly overlapping with each other. 

“Eleanor! Do you have any updates on the identity of the shooters?” 

“Is President Grimshaw in stable condition after surgery?” 

“What about the Deputy Chief of Staff? Do they know how long the operation will take?” 

Normally, Eleanor loves her job, but at this moment, this is the last place she wants to be. She wants to be at the hospital with Harry and Liam, who have both refused to leave, or at home, wrapped up in a blanket. Sadly though, her job description includes feeding and satisfying the ravenous press, even in the events of tragedy. In the past, she’s done this admirably, but...

_Steady._

“The manhunt for the two gunmen is continuing,” she informs the first reporter. “As of now, we have no further updates on their motivations or identities. The President is in stable condition after surgery for his shoulder injury sustained from gunshot wounds, and is expected to be released early tomorrow.” 

She pauses. 

“What about Louis Tomlinson?” This is yelled by someone from Reuters, sitting further back. “Any updates on the condition of the Deputy Chief of Staff?” 

Every time Eleanor hears this question, or a variation of it, she feels like she wants to faint. Her skin prickles, and for one second, she’s back in Rosslyn. One second, she’d been laughing with Louis and Liam, gloating about what a successful rally it had been, and then the next, there had been gunshots, and screaming, and she’d been shoved down, and the sharp taste of blood in her mouth-- 

“The Deputy Chief of Staff is in his fourth hour of surgery.” Her voice is oddly monotonous. She looks out, focuses in on the sharp blue of a reporter’s tie in order to keep it so. “As I said earlier, the doctors are attempting to repair a collapsed lung. There is no further change in his condition, and the surgery is expected to last at least ten hours.” 

The reporters are still screaming, but--

“No further questions,” she says, sharply, turning from the podium, and tucking her hands into her suit pockets to disguise that they’re shaking. 

 

_Three Years Earlier_

“With all due respect Senator,” Louis says, trying and failing to keep the annoyance and disdain out of his voice. “I think that we need to move the welfare issue front and center. Where do you stand? You’ve mentioned it a hundred times in your speeches, and I still--” 

“Moving on.” Senator Parker’s tone is not one of amusement. He looks at Louis sharply, but Louis has never been one to be deterred by this. He’s been Parker’s Chief of Staff for the past four years, and if all goes well, is looking to be the Senator’s campaign manager in the Presidential race, and then...The White House. Louis’ dream. Sure, there’s other Democrats running, but as of now, Senator Tom Parker pretty much has the nomination sewn up, before the primaries have even started. 

The problem is, despite the White House being so close he can taste it, Louis is growing less and less enthused. 

“We need to stay center, to appeal to all voters. Liberal Democrats and Moderates alike.” Oh great. Louis rolls his eyes. One of the idiot campaign strategists is talking again, which is always unfortunate. “It’s what we call a clear strategy--” 

“Really?” The words are out of Louis’ mouth before he can even think. “Because that’s what I call bullshit.” 

_“Tomlinson!”_ Shit. Louis always knows he’s in trouble when the Senator uses this tone, and his last name. “Outside. Now.” 

Louis doesn’t strut as he gets up from the table. Nor does he shoot the stupid campaign strategist a dirty, unimpressed look. Not at all. 

Outside the meeting room, Senator Parker glares at him. 

“Get it together,” he tells Louis, voice grim. “You’ve been acting up for the past two weeks. More than you usually do.” 

“I’ve told you how I feel about this,” Louis snaps. “I just want you to have a position. I want--”

“And I want you to _trust me.”_ The Senator sighs. “Louis. You know how valuable you are to me. You helped me get elected the first time, and you’re going to help me again. And when we win, there’s going to be major rewards for you. You know that.” 

There’s so much that Louis wants to say. That he thinks Parker is lacking the guts and promise he showed in the Senate races. That he thinks the Senator is making up excuses yet again, that he feels like this is turning into a dishonest campaign, that sometimes, he even thinks his boss doesn’t have what it takes to be President, despite being the frontrunner. 

For once though, he holds his tongue and nods. 

“So we understand?” The Senator asks. 

“Yes.” Louis nods.

“Good. Now stop fucking around, and sassing my strategists.” 

It’s a good thing that Louis hears someone call his name, because he’s about to snap that he had every good reason to “sass” those strategists, because they’re idiots, and in his opinion, Senator Parker should fire them and get people who actually have guts. 

He’s saved though, by his assistant Hannah. 

“Louis! Oh, I’m sorry Senator, I didn’t--” 

“That’s alright,” Parker says, smoothly. “Louis and I were just finishing up.” 

Hannah nods. “Louis, there’s someone here to see you. A Greg James?” 

Suddenly, Louis’ day, which has been Grade-A shit so far, seems more promising. Greg James had been one of his good friends in law school. A few years older than Louis, they’d worked on both the Harvard Law Review and the Harvard Lampoon together. He still keeps in touch with Greg too, despite the fact that Greg occasionally accuses him of “selling out” to work for a more moderate Senator like Tom Parker. Greg has preferred to work smaller campaigns, often for fringe candidates. 

Even so, he hurries towards his office, greets Greg with an enormous hug and a boisterous “what’s new, idiot?” 

\--

“Some things never change,” Greg remarks, watching as Louis douses his fries in ketchup. “You still eat as shitty as you did at Harvard.” 

“I have a very stressful job.” Louis says, airily. He takes a sip of his Coke. “Got to keep my strength up.” 

“Yeah.” Greg nods. “That’s actually what I came here to see you about.” 

“Coming to the dark side?” Louis laughs. “You want a job on the Parker campaign? Finally tired of the hippy dippy--” 

“On the contrary.” Greg reaches across the table and steals a couple of Louis’ fries. “I’m here to convert you, my friend.” 

“Oh Gregory.” Louis groans. “We’ve been through this. I’m not interested in some poncy,  blue blooded, New England--” 

“One rally, Louis.” Greg looks at him. “One rally, up in New Hampshire. That’s all I’m asking. I’ve got a lot of faith in this guy.” 

“Oh like you’ve had a lot of faith in the last four?” 

“This one’s different.” Greg says, strongly. “I can’t describe it, but...Nicholas Grimshaw is the man we’ve been waiting for. The kind of man we used to talk about at Harvard.” 

“Back when we were young and starry eyed and stupid?” 

“Despite living in Washington, I’ve still managed to retain some of those starry eyed aspirations.” Greg takes another fry, despite Louis’ protests. “And I know you have too. Which is why you need to come to New Hampshire this weekend. One rally. See him speak. See if he’s the real deal.” 

Louis groans. 

“You steal my fries, insult my eating habits, and now want me to give my precious free time to go up to New Hampshire, possibly the most boring state in existence?” He groans again, for good measure. “Give me one good reason why.” 

“Because.” Greg gives him a cheeky grin. “It’s what old friends do for each other.” 

Louis bangs his head on the table, as Greg’s smile grows wider. Damn it. Louis thinks. Greg had just played the trump card. Despite his flaws, if there’s one thing Louis holds dear, above all others, it’s loyalty. 

\--

_Manhattan._

Louis had thought stopping over in New York would be a great idea, but there’s one problem. Despite knowing it’s a huge firm, some big deal, he can’t remember the exact name of where Liam works. 

So that’s how he ends up wandering around Midtown Manhattan for three hours, cursing this monstrosity of a city, and getting odd looks from strangers where he asks about “the one big law firm,” until he finally, finally ends up in the lobby of Cowell, Walsh, and Cole. 

Liam had been his roommate in undergrad and best friend in law school. They’d interned in DC together over the summers, clerked for Senators together, dreamed of the White House together. Then Louis had joined Parker’s campaign and Liam had been seduced by the private sector, so the White House had been placed on the back burner. 

Louis is one to keep in touch with his friends though, so he’s gone to visit Liam over the years, sends him what he likes to think are amusing emails. The past six months have been so busy though, that they’ve barely had time to talk. However, if there’s one thing Louis is a fan of, it’s spontaneity, so what better than to randomly show up in Liam’s office? 

“I hate your firm.” He says in greeting,

Of course, Liam sputters at first, and stares at him in shock, going on how he can’t believe that Louis is here, and how this is absolutely ridiculous and insane, before enveloping his friend in a huge hug, while still calling him crazy. 

\--

“So I actually did come here with a purpose,” Louis says. He and Liam are now walking around Midtown, Starbucks cups in hand. “Shocking, I know.” 

“With a purpose other than antagonizing me and mocking my work?” Liam asks. “That is shocking, Tommo.” 

“Quiet, Payner.” Louis grins at him. “I wasn’t mocking your work. I’m just saying, your firm needs a name that’s easier to remember.” 

“Oh come on!” Liam rolls his eyes. “Cowell, Walsh, and Cole? Only the second biggest firm in Manhattan? Have only taken on some of the biggest cases of the decade? Have--” 

“For those of us that don’t live in this godawful city, there should be a better way to remember.” Louis flicks his hair across his face. “But I digress. The point is--remember Greg James?” 

“Of course!” Liam grins. “I love Greg. Is he still working for...whatever borderline Communist senator he was working for last?” 

“Nope. He’s putting his faith in some new guy. Is convinced he’s the real deal, the next Commander in Chief, Leader of the Free World, Et cetera, Et cetera.” 

“Oh Greg.” Liam shakes his head. “Always the idealist.” 

“He’s somehow convinced me to come up to New Hampshire to see him--Nicholas Grimshaw speak--”Louis continues. “If anything, it will be a good laugh?” He sighs. “Greg was a real ass and pulled the loyalty card, so I had to.” 

“So why are you telling me this?” Liam asks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Do you think there’s a chance this Grimshaw guy is the real deal?” 

“I don’t know.” Louis pulls his coat closer to him. “I just--remember how we used to talk about the White House at school, Liam? How we’d go on about how we wanted to work for a good man, with principles? What if...” 

His voice trails off. 

“Parker keeps flip flopping on issues,” he continues. “His idiot strategists keep telling him to stick the center so as a result, I have no idea what he stands for.” 

“That’s all politics is nowadays,” Liam says. “Why do you think I went into the private sector? I got sick of it.”

“What if it wasn’t though?” Suddenly, Louis’ voice is earnest. “What if--somehow--there’s still someone out there that stands for something? Like we used to talk about.” 

Liam laughs. 

“Well that would be brilliant, and also a small miracle.” 

“Yeah.” Louis sighs. “I mean, he’ll probably be crazy or irritating, or both, like all the other guys Greg has backed in the past, but...”

There’s a pause. 

“I’m going to make partner next month.” Liam offers.

“That’s amazing.” Louis grins at him. “You partner of the biggest, law firm in Manhattan, and me, campaign manager and Chief of Staff in the big white house hopeful. We’re drinking from the keg of glory, my friend.” 

“Like we always talked about.” Liam nods. 

Another pause.

“I should go.” Louis tosses his empty coffee cup into a nearby trash. “My train leaves soon. I’m glad I found you though.” 

“Me too.” Liam reaches out and gives Louis a hug. “Keep in touch, okay?” 

“Of course.” 

Louis starts to walk away then, but suddenly, on impulse, turns back. 

“Hey Payner!” He shouts. 

“Yeah?” Liam turns too. 

“If I see the real thing in New Hampshire, want me to come back and tell you?” 

Liam grins at him. “You won’t have to tell me.”

“Why’s that?” 

“You’ve always had a pretty bad poker face.” 

\--

And somehow, through some small miracle, it does turn out to be the real deal. Louis thinks Grimshaw is arrogant, sure. Arrogant and hard to handle and occasionally obnoxious, but he’s also honest and knows what he stands for and genuinely believes that he can make the country a better place. Before he knows it, Louis is turning in his resignation letter to a furious Senator Parker, then going to collect Liam in New York, meeting him in his office with an ear to ear grin and a thumbs up, and then breaking his lease to move to freezing cold, boring New Hampshire. 

Greg is annoyingly smug about the whole thing, but he’s also a brilliant strategist. He fires the centrist managers, but keeps the quiet, snarky Zayn Malik. He recruits Eleanor Calder, a brilliant PR attorney from California to deal with the press, and finds the insanely affable, yet fiercely loyal Niall Horan to be her deputy. 

 Before Louis knows it, they’re all sitting around the Manchester office, wearing “Grimshaw for America” buttons, clutching cups of hot cocoa, while tossing a basketball around.  

\--

“Can someone please, for the love of God, get me the numbers of the preliminary polls in Iowa?” Louis shouts, to no one in particular. A terrified looking intern, holding a box of buttons, scuttles away from him. “The numbers, and all these damn buttons put somewhere there’s not all over this office? And for fuck’s sake, someone answer my phones--” 

He rounds the corner to answer his office phone, still swearing under his breath. He misses Hannah. She’d been his assistant throughout his time with Senator Parker, but she’d chosen to stay with “the dark side,” as Greg calls it, and besides, the budget is too  tight for him to really have an assistant right now anyways. 

The phone suddenly stops ringing, and he hears--

“Louis Tomlinson’s office.” 

His first thought is thank God for small favors. His second, is who the fuck is this kid, this kid with impossibly curly hair, wearing a ridiculous plaid shirt and skinny jeans and boots, pouring over his personal calendar and answering his phone like he’s been doing this for years? 

“Mr. Tomlinson has a meeting at two,” the kid is saying now, as he intently studies Louis’ datebook. “However, I can get you in tomorrow at eleven. Does that work?” A pause. “Fantastic. Thank you so much for considering donating to the campaign, and have a lovely afternoon.” 

Louis clears his throat as the kid--he really is a kid--hangs up the phone. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he says. “But who the hell are you?” 

The kid gives him a wide, beaming smile. 

“I’m your new assistant!” He says. “Can’t you tell?” 

Louis narrows his eyes. “I didn’t hire a new assistant.”

“Well, I’m one of the new hires!” The kid smiles at him again, and damn it, it’s a nice smile. Louis also thinks he bears a shocking resemblance to Bambi. “I got here, and um, the nice blonde lady told me to go into your office and answer your phones.” 

“By nice blonde lady, do you mean Perrie?” Louis asks, referring to Greg’s assistant. She’s sweet and competent, but just the type to take pity on some poor kid. 

“That’s the one! So lovely--” 

Louis turns on his heel. 

_“Perrie!”_ He yells, only slightly imperiously. 

“No wait!” The kid tugs at Louis’ sweater. “Wait. I don’t want to get her in trouble. Um. So, when I mentioned that I’m one of the new hires, I might have just showed up here.” 

Louis sighs. 

“I expected as much,” he says. “Look kid. We’re on a tight enough budget as it is. I can’t afford to take on new interns, or staff right now. I’m sure--” 

“I drove all the way from Madison.” The kid starts babbling again and for some reason, Louis doesn’t just roll his eyes and walk away. “My name’s Harry Styles, by the way. I graduated from University of Wisconsin. Double major in Political Science and French. I’ve been following the Grimshaw campaign since the beginning. I’ll do anything you want me to--” 

“When did you graduate?” Louis asks. He walks over to his desk, and snatches up a memo to read. 

“Um.” Harry looks at him with wide eyes. “Well, um, when I said I graduated, I mean that like...I might possibly still be a few credits short? I had to leave this year for er, circumstances. I’m very smart though! Like I said, Political Science and French! And er, Theatre, and Music, and Pre-law for a bit, and also Biology. And I worked in a bakery for awhile, so I’m a great cook--”

Good Lord, this kid can ramble. It also takes him forever to get to the point.

“So was your girlfriend in law school or med school?” He asks, flipping to the next page of the memo. “And who dumped who?” 

Harry bites his lip, is silent for a moment. 

“Med school,” he finally admits.

“So the solution was, she moves in with you, gets free rent, and you work and pay the bills until she finishes residency?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, quietly. “Look, that’s beside the point though. Caroline’s not a bad person. The point is, I’ve wanted to work on this campaign for awhile, and this breakup gave me the courage to finally do it. I’ve been driving for two days. I want to work on this campaign. I want to learn everything I can about politics.” 

There is something about this kid that seems genuine. Even so-- 

“You changed your major fifteen times, it sounds like. How do I know that in a couple months time, you’re not going to get sick of this and go off to fulfill your dream of becoming a salmon farmer or something like that?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry says, lightly. “In all those things I talked about, did I ever mention salmon farming?” 

Louis can’t help it. He starts to laugh. 

“You don’t get fazed by much, do you kid?” He wipes his eyes. “Hm. Look, I can maybe get you on as an intern in one of the field campaigns, but--” 

“I don’t want to work on the field,” Harry’s voice is suddenly stronger. “I want to work directly with this campaign. I want to go to South Carolina with you all next week.” 

“This isn’t some 1940s movie where the plucky hero chases his dreams and gets rewarded. I told you. We have no money--” 

“I’ll sell my car.” Harry sounds slightly desperate now. “I’ll pay my own way. I’ll sleep on the floor. I just--I feel like for the first time in my life---”

He collects himself then, looks Louis straight in the eye, for once, doesn’t ramble. 

“I think I’d be good at this,” he finishes. “I think you might find me valuable.” 

Louis stares at him for a moment, for once not sure of what to say, and then two things happen at once. The phone rings, as Eleanor sticks her head in the office. 

“Louis. The numbers for Iowa just came in. They’re _good.”_

Louis grins widely, does a quick victory fist pump, before turning back to Harry. 

“Well go ahead.” He’s in a great mood now. “Answer it.” 

As Harry chirps “Louis Tomlinson’s office,” Louis crosses the room, and slips his staff badge into Harry’s hand. He’s rewarded with another one of those beaming smiles. 

\---

_Present Day._

Harry hadn’t gone to Rosslyn. As just a lowly assistant, he’d gone home for the night, while the rest of the staff had headed out to Virginia for the rally. He’d gone through the usual routine--fed his cat, emailed his mother and sister amusing White House tales of the week, then for good measure, emailed Louis a lengthy “reasons why you should give me more vacation time,” complete with lots of smiley faces. 

He’d been eating a sandwich and watching the nightly news--the usual break-ins and custody cases, interspersed with news about the newest Giant Panda, when a gigantic “Breaking News” had flashed across the screen. 

He had stared at the screen in horror, too shocked to even cry as the anchor went on about a shooting--two gunmen--at Rosslyn, and that the President was being taken to Memorial Hospital, to be treated for minor injuries. There were no remarks about the others though, and Harry had jumped up, not bothering to change out of his pajama pants, and forgetting his staff badge. He’d cursed the distance between his apartment in Columbia Heights and Foggy Bottom, where Memorial is located. Then, when he’d tried to take the Metro, he’d discovered that all trains had been shut down due to the shooting. He didn’t even care about shelling out almost forty dollars for a cab though. All he could think about was if everyone was okay, but no one was answering their phones, making his stomach churn even faster. 

He kept thinking about the email he’d written Louis, full of the usual banter and snark the two have gotten so used to in the past three years, and felt worse. 

It had taken forever to get in the hospital, as he’d forgotten his badge, but thankfully, a staffer had recognized him and gotten him in, escorted him to a private room. A private room which felt more like a funeral parlor. Eleanor, nose bloody and a bandage wrapped around her neck, face wet with tears. Liam, appearing unharmed, but hands buried in his face. Niall with his arm wrapped around Liam, and Zayn sitting a little further away from them, staring straight ahead. 

He knew right then, even as he babbled on about how it took him forever to get in, that it’s not good news. When he asks where Louis is, there’s silence. For once, Zayn actually breaks it. 

“It’s critical,” he informs Harry. “Collapsed lung.” 

Harry had collapsed in a chair next to Liam, shaking, but once again unable to cry, and has sat there for the past five hours, refusing to go home. Now, it’s just Liam and Harry in the room. Eleanor is at another briefing, Niall is writing her notes, and Zayn, as Communications Director, is working on a speech that will be delivered later tonight. Liam, his deputy, had promised to do the morning shows tomorrow, when he’s got his wits together, which is better anyway. Liam is far more articulate when dealing with the media, versus Spellcheck. 

They all still have their jobs to do, save for Harry. His job has always been Louis, so right now, he just feels lost. 

Harry and Liam are both quiet now, lost in their own worlds. Harry is thinking about little things, day to day things. Like about how Louis loves to yell “Harry!” from his desk, and how Harry rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer him from the bullpen, until Louis actually gets up to find him. How Louis saucily demands his tea every morning, and how Harry always tells him that his hands aren’t broken, but half an hour later, will bring him a cup of black tea with a dash of milk. How once, Louis had showed up drunk at his apartment, babbling on, and terrifying Harry’s cat, then collapsed on his couch after demanding to watch _Sex and the City_ (Harry had threatened to leak that-- “Deputy Chief of Staff secretly Carrie Bradshaw fanboy”). How last Christmas, Louis had given him a book from what he would normally dismiss as “one of those pretentious hipster shops” entitled _The Art and Artistry of Fine Cooking,_ and wrote something inside it that was so sweet, it almost didn’t seem like it was written-- 

“Hi you two.” 

Harry starts as Eleanor sits down next to them. She rubs at her eyes and slips off her high heels. 

“Fucking press,” she moans. “I’m going in the Situation Room, putting in codes, and murdering them all.” 

“I don’t think Greg would endorse that idea,” Liam says, voice also sounding very, very far away. Harry can’t help but be a little bit amused. Even in times of great tragedy, Liam is the sensible one. 

“Besides.” Liam continues. “You love dealing with the press. You’re great at it.” 

“Not today. Fucking vultures.” She puts her arm around Harry. “Anything new here? Do you want to go home, maybe get some coffee?” 

Harry shakes his head, suddenly wanting to cry. 

“No.” His voice is soft. “I’m staying right here. Louis would do the same thing for me.” 

\--

  _Two Years Earlier._

“Was this written by a toddler?” Grimshaw snaps, slamming down the offending speech. “Who wrote this?” 

It’s the eve of the Illinois primary, and the mood should be euphoric. The preliminary numbers are coming in, and if the trend keeps up, Parker will be putting in his concession speech tonight. They should be drinking champagne, Louis thinks, but instead, they’re dealing with Grimshaw and his victory speech. The victory speech that has already gone through four drafts. 

“I’m not saying my opponent!” Grimshaw is snapping now. “We’ve been through this. Amateur hour! Either we say Senator Parker, or nothing at all!” 

“What about pompous douchebag?” Louis suggests, taking a sip of the beer he’s holding, and smirking. Brainstorming sessions with Grimmy (as he’s taken to privately calling him with the others) typically call for alcohol. 

Unfortunately, Nick doesn’t seem to like this idea, as he slams his hand on the table. 

“None of your remarks, Tomlinson!” He snarls. “Keep crunching those numbers. As for you, Calder--” 

“I’m sorry Sir.” Liam squeaks. “It’s Payne, remember? We’ll rewrite the speech.” 

“You better. Jesus Christ. A billion Ivy League degrees between all of you, and you still--” 

Louis rolls his eyes and gets up from the table as Grimmy continues to berate poor Liam. It doesn’t help that while his friend has many gifts, spelling isn’t one of them. As he steps out of the room, he hears Grimshaw start to go on a tirade about “and didn’t they teach you to spell at Yale?” 

“I’m sorry, Sir! I went to Harvard, not Yale!” 

_“Well didn’t they teach you how to spell at Harvard?”_

Louis can’t help but laugh. This is always far more entertaining when he’s not in the room. 

“Louis!” 

He turns to see Harry coming towards him, holding a tray of coffees.

“Ah, Haz.” He grins at him. “I see you bring the Elixir of Life. Earl Grey for me?” 

“Of course.” Harry shakes his head and hands Louis the cup. “Grimmy having his usual berating session?” 

“Poor Liam.” Louis sighs. “As usual, we always feel bathed in Grimmy’s warm embrace.” 

Harry laughs. “He’s not all bad.” 

“That’s because you don’t write his speeches.” Louis takes a sip of his tea. “He’s brilliant, but insane. And I’m pretty sure he still has no idea who any of us are.” 

“He knows who I am!” Harry points out. “He’s always lovely to me.” 

“Well.” Louis gives Harry a quick grin. “That’s because you’re pretty impossible to forget.” 

There’s a pause, as Louis curses himself. Over the past few months, one of his new Campaign Commandments is _thou shalt not flirt with thine assistant, no matter how cute and witty he is._ It’s hard though. Very, very hard. Especially because Harry is naturally sweet and charming, and would probably flirt with a tree if the opportunity arose. 

_“Louis! Harry!”_

Eleanor is running toward them. She’s beaming and suddenly, Louis knows exactly why. 

“Did it happen?” He asks. 

“Yes!” Eleanor practically screams this. “Go look on the TV right now! My god. _We did it. We actually fucking did it.”_

And then a moment later, Louis screaming with joy too, throwing his arms around Eleanor as the anchor says--

“And with that, we can officially call Illinois for Governor Nicholas Grimshaw. It has been a long, fierce, battle between him and Senator Thomas Parker of Virginia. Previously the Democratic darling and frontrunner, Parker is expected to concede later tonight--” 

The others have come out too, wondering what the screaming was about, and it’s now pandemonium. Louis can’t believe it himself. When he’d made what was possibly the rashest decision of his life, he’d had no idea what would happen--indeed, the decision might have wrecked his political career--but now, they’re one step away from the White House. They’ve done the unthinkable, but somehow, they’ve just cinched the Democratic nomination. 

“We need some music!” He screams. “Music and possibly booze. Get something good on!” 

Oh god. He needs to call his mother. She’s going to be so proud of him, is going to gloat to all of the neighbors. There will be no mention of Nick either. Louis will have singlehandedly elected--

“Harry!” He yells, seeing his assistant coming toward him again. “Harry why the hell aren’t you smiling? We need music! We need champagne! We need--” 

“Louis.” Harry is biting his lip, holds out the phone. “Your father just died.” 

Louis swallows. He knows that his mother isn’t talking about his stepfather either. It’s his biological father, the one who split when Louis was two, who he rarely saw, who had barely even batted an eyelash or offered a word of congratulations when Louis had graduated from Harvard Law. Louis knows from his mother, who’s still occasionally in contact with him (though why, Louis doesn’t know) that he’s been sick for quite some time. He’d visited him once, very briefly, before he’d gone up to New Hampshire, and it had been the usual conversation. Small talk on the surface, hidden under a blanket of resentment and so many things left unsaid. 

Leave to it his father though, to suddenly make him feel like a deflated balloon. 

\--

Louis is sitting in a side room, away from the celebration. He’s mindlessly scrolling through flights to New York, wondering if he should even go to the funeral, if maybe, he should go home just to be there for his mother. It’s something he’s always struggled with, being far away from her and her sisters. He’s Mr. Political Superstar, living a great life, and yet his mother’s still going on, living the same old life she always has, and Louis can’t help but wonder if some days, she feels so alone, can’t help but feel guilty for living in Washington, even though he knows that’s absurd--

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is quiet as he slips into a chair next to him. He sets down a cup of tea, in a “Grimshaw for America” mug. 

“Hi,” Louis says, quietly. 

“Hi.” Harry echoes. 

Louis reaches out and sips his tea. Oddly enough, it does make him feel a little better. Tea is life’s balm, his mother always says. 

“I’m really sorry.” Harry says then. Outside, “We Are the Champions” is still blasting. Louis can see Perrie dancing with Niall. 

“It’s okay.” Louis looks down at the steam rising from his mug. “I wasn’t close to him. He split when I was two. Never cared much about my life, or what I was doing. Once told me I wasn’t smart enough to get into Harvard Law.” Louis laughs, slightly bitterly. “I showed him, right?” 

“Hey.” Harry puts a hand on Louis.’ “Obviously, he was an idiot. Though, I’m still sorry, because he was your Dad.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says. He swallows. “Look, I think I’m going to get on an early morning--” 

“Louis?” 

Nick is standing in the doorway. He’s dressed to go onstage, looks sharp in a perfectly fitted suit and a bright blue tie. Notes for his previously offending victory speech are clutched in his hand. 

“Sir.” Louis nods at him. _Well that’s the first time you haven’t called me Tomlinson._ “Do you want to go through your speech?” 

“I just heard about your father.” Nick comes in, and sits down. “Do you need anything?” 

Louis bites his lip. He’s used to being the one that fixes things, that comforts people even. Not the other way around. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Sir, you should really be getting onstage. The crowd is going nuts.” 

“My first priority is looking out for my staff,” Nick says, sharply. “The crowd can wait.” 

At that moment, Eleanor and Liam come in the room. Liam puts down a six pack of beer. 

“I normally don’t approve of alcohol,” he says, making Louis smile a little and remember that kid he met freshman year at Harvard, the roommate he wanted to punch in the face and thought was the most pompous, uptight, windbag ever. Now he just finds comments like this endearing. “Tonight though, I think we need it. For various reasons.” 

“Thanks mate.” Louis claps him on the back and reaches for a drink. Meanwhile, Eleanor wraps her arms around him, gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“You’re amazing, Lou. Seriously. We wouldn’t be celebrating this night if it wasn’t for you.” 

“Not true.” Louis shakes his head. 

“True.” Eleanor shakes her head back at him. “So now, we drink.” 

Louis looks up at Nick again. “Really, Sir--” 

“I really do have a wonderful staff.” Nick suddenly says, quietly. “Even though I don’t show my appreciation sometimes, it’s times like these that I realize it.” 

“Oh Sir.” Liam comes over and puts an arm around him. “We feel the same way.” 

Nick suddenly gives Liam a withering look. 

“Hugs later, Payne. Don’t muss the suit. It’s been dry cleaned.” 

“Oh right!” Liam steps back. “You got my name right!” 

“Don’t get all sappy now.” Nick looks at the small group. “And take care of each other.” 

“Get out there,” Louis says, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

Nick nods. 

“I’m ready,” he tells them. “All of you better be too.” 

\--

_Present Day._

Louis is now in his eighth hour of surgery. Eleanor, Harry, and Liam are sitting in a row. There’s sandwiches on the table nearby, that one of the nurses had brought them, but none of them are eating. 

“We were right there with him,” Eleanor says now, to Liam. “I just--it keeps haunting me. We were right there with him. All of us together, gloating about the rally. It could have been us, but--”

She draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them, suddenly looking much younger. 

“You can’t think like that,” Liam says. “You’ll go crazy, El. You just can’t. I know it’s horrible, and I know it was chance, but you can’t think like that.” 

“I barely remember any of it,” Eleanor tells them. “It’s all this awful blur. I remember falling, and someone pushing me to the ground--” 

She suddenly looks at Liam. 

“Louis was a little ahead of us,” she says, slowly. “Louis was a little ahead of us, and I broke my necklace, and someone on my right pushed me, and you were on my right--” 

Liam sighs, and reaches into his pocket. In his hand is a garnet heart shaped pendant, that Eleanor always wears. 

“I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me.” He sounds sheepish. “You know, for saving your life? Even though, I got you, but if only--”

He breaks off again. “Right. Don’t think about it.” 

“Oh Liam.” Eleanor hugs him. “Liam, Communications Deputy and Knight in Shining Armor.” 

She takes the necklace from him, and slips it into her pocket. 

“I’m perfectly capable of saving my own life, you know,” she finishes. “Mad gunmen, or no mad gunmen. And I’m sure there will be a time, that I can repay you.” 

“Hopefully not.” Liam returns her hug. 

Harry is about to say something--he’s suddenly, for unknown reasons, feeling guilty that he wasn’t there as well--when he notices that President Grimshaw has walked into the room, closely followed by Greg. The President has his arm in a sling, but other than that, looks like his normal self. 

“Sir.” Harry stands up. 

“No, sit.” Nick waves his hand. “I just came by to tell you all I’m being released.” 

“That’s wonderful news.” Liam says. Eleanor and Harry nod in ascent. 

“I want news as soon as Louis gets out of surgery,” Nick says then. “I don’t care what time it is, or how the news is given to me, but I want it.” 

“Of course, Sir.” Eleanor says. 

“I’m staying here,” Harry speaks up. “So I’ll know something as soon as they come back.” 

Nick nods, and looks at Harry. There’s a strange look in his eye. Harry’s not sure what it is. A mixture of sadness and pity, maybe? 

“I never expected this would happen,” he says. “Out of all of the things--I never considered this.” 

Greg clears his throat. 

“The car’s waiting for you, Mr. President.” 

\--

_Two Years Earlier, Election Night._

“Shut up!” Louis screams at the room, packed with people, all wearing Grimshaw buttons and holding their breath. “We’ve got another projection coming in!” 

“...And Governor Nicholas Grimshaw has just taken the critical swing state of Ohio, putting him at 276 electoral votes, meaning that at this time, we can project that he is your new Commander in Chief.” 

The room erupts in screams. It’s once again a confusing mass of hugging and yelling and in the midst of it all, Louis is chanting--

“Victory is ours, victory is ours!” 

There’s no phone call this time either, to sour his happiness. He’s so overjoyed, he feels like he could burst. 

“I’m getting champagne!” He screams, to cheers of ascent. “All the champagne, in all of America! The finest champagne in all the land!” 

He’s heading back towards the kitchen, when someone grabs his hand. Louis turns to see Harry standing there, cheeks flushed and a wide grin on his face.

“We did it,” he says to Louis, hugging him. 

“We fucking did it.” Louis laughs, still giddy. 

“Do you have to say that word?” Harry makes a face. 

“Damn fucking right I do.” 

And then, Louis isn’t even thinking, he’s just leaning in and kissing Harry, like he’s wanted to do for so many months, and it feels so right, and Harry tastes like coffee and also something ridiculously sugary, and also--

_Shit._

“I have no idea what I just--” 

He breaks away. 

Harry gives him a wounded glance. “Don’t stop.” He sticks out his lip. “You have no idea--” 

“You mean?” Louis asks.

“You have no idea how long I’ve fantasized about this moment. And now you’re being an awful tease--”

Louis laughs then, a long, joyful laugh, then--

“Oh shut up you,” he says, kissing Harry again, and pulling him towards the kitchen. 

\---

_Present Day._

Harry doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows, Eleanor is nudging him awake. It’s no longer dark, and the sun is shining through the room. 

“Huh?” He asks, groggily, rubbing at his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and there’s an awful crick in his neck, but then he remembers. Shooting. Hospital. _Louis._

“Is there news?” He asks Eleanor. She’s got a little more color in her faces, and she’s taken the bandage off her neck.

“They took him off bypass.” Eleanor says, squeezing his hand. “Harry, it’s going to be okay. They just took him off bypass. The surgery was successful.” 

After not crying for more than twelve hours, Harry bursts into tears. It’s all the pent up emotions he’s been feeling ever since he first saw the initial report. He throws his arms around Eleanor, still crying, and then suddenly, Liam and Niall and Zayn are there, and they’re all hugging and wiping their eyes (well, Harry and Liam are), and Niall is yelling something about celebratory pizza, while Eleanor goes on about how tonight, they’re going to some awesome bar and ordering shots in Louis’ honor. 

“You all can see him, you know.” A new voice speaks up. Greg is standing by the door, watching them all with a wide smile on his face. “One at a time, because it’s the ICU and he’s still in recovery. I don’t know how lucid he’ll be, but the doctor said it’s okay.” 

The others in the room all look at each other. 

“You should go.” Harry says to Liam. “First, I mean. You’re his best friend.” 

Liam shakes his head. “No, Harry.” 

“He was asking for you, Harry.” Greg speaks up. “Right after they took him off bypass. He was mumbling something about you and Illinois. You should go.” 

The others nod in agreement. 

\--

There’s something about hospitals, and especially critical care units, that have always freaked Harry out, but for Louis, he can do it. He swallows as a nurse buzzes him into the ICU, and leads him to Louis’ bed. Harry bites at his lip, suddenly feeling anxious. Louis looks so small--which he is naturally--but normally, the sheer force of his personality makes people overlook his stature. Now though, hooked up to a billion tubes, and needles stuck in his arms, Harry barely recognizes him. 

He sits down on the chair next to the bed though, takes Louis’ hand. He’s done this so many times since Illinois, but he never thought that it would be in a situation like this. 

“Harry.” Louis croaks. His voice is low and raspy. “You came. You got to New Hampshire.” 

“He’s still not completely awake,” one of the nurses says, almost apologetically. “He’s been going on about New Hampshire ever since he was brought in.” 

“It’s fine,” Harry says. He speaks to Louis then--

“Of course I came. I came the second I saw the report. I’ve been here as long as you have.” 

“I’m sorry.” Louis is saying now. “I--I wanted to be there. Wanted to be a comfort to my friends in tragedy and all, but of course, I’m the one who got shot.” 

“It’s going to be fine.” Harry squeezes Louis’ hand. “I just--I’m so glad you’re okay. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and us, and what would happen if--” 

“You got to New Hampshire,” Louis says again, also squeezing Harry’s hand. “Got to New Hampshire, and my hands, and your hands, tied up like two ships...” 

Harry bites his lip again. Louis is quoting a poem he’d found, written in the inscription of Harry’s book last Christmas. They’ve kept their relationship quiet, occasionally see others, try not to illicit too much gossip, even though sometimes Liam jokes it’s the most obvious secret in all of DC, but--

“Don’t want it to be secret anymore,” Louis mumbles. “You got to New Hampshire.” 

Harry leans in, and gently kisses Louis’ forehead. 

“I got to New Hampshire,” he echoes. 

\---

_Coda_

Two weeks later, Louis is released from the hospital. He’s still weak, but stable enough to go home, and of course, he’s whining about how he’s going crazy just sitting around, and snapping at the doctors, asking when he can get back to work. 

Harry wouldn’t have it any other way though.

There’s a small party at Louis’ apartment, to welcome him home. The usual crowd. Eleanor and Liam and Zayn and Niall and of course Harry, who walks in with Louis, leads him to the couch and gets him situated with a blanket and a cup of tea, served in the Grimshaw for America mug that Louis has kept since Illinois. 

Niall orders pizza, and Liam has brought a huge stack of DVDs. Always considerate, Zayn presents Louis with a stack of briefing memos, tied up with a red ribbon, for “when you get bored.” Eleanor has a more sensible present, of two new pairs of pajamas. 

They all crowd onto the couch together, toasting each other with their drinks, and amidst it all, Louis leans into Harry, their hands tangled together, tied up like two ships. 

\---


End file.
